Just A Touch
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: All is takes is a brush of skin. Just a simple touch can change everything. Soulmate!AU


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.**

 _Auction Prompt - Cuddling_

 **Word Count - 4860**

* * *

 **Just A Touch**

* * *

In a world where everybody has a soulmate, there are a select few who choose to remain alone. They eschew any kind of physical contact with anyone other than close family, and live their lives in the singular.

Sherlock Holmes was one of the few who chose to live his life alone. Mycroft Holmes was another. When Sherlock decided he needed a flatmate, he was lucky enough to come across John Watson, an Ex-Army Doctor with a psychosomatic limp and a love of keeping his hands covered with worn leather gloves.

It took a while for Sherlock to come to the conclusion that John was actively avoiding a soulmate connection. For himself and Mycroft, it was a simple reasoning that sentiment was a chemical defect and certainly not an advantage in life.

For John, it was slightly more complicated. As a doctor, he'd seen the harsher side of soulmates. He'd seen the abused spouses that couldn't just divorce of press charges against their other halves. He'd seen relationships shatter because of a single touch of skin with someone else. He'd watched his own mother be neglected by his alcoholic father.

Sherlock respected and supported John's choice. Rather selfishly, he knew, he was quite happy to live with John in Baker Street for the rest of their lives, just the two of them, best friends until the very end. They were closer than close, and Sherlock enjoyed the connection they shared, one built on shared experiences and camaraderie rather than a 'magical connection' that had no basis in science whatsoever.

They were on what should have been a routine stakeout when it all changed. A mess of gunfire and Mycroft arriving at the wrong time and taking a bullet to the chest.

Sherlock had froze at the sight of the blood pooling around his older brother, while John leapt into action, pulling his leather gloves off without a second thought as he crossed the room as quickly as he could while avoiding the still flying missiles.

He ripped open Mycroft's shirt, putting his hands on the wound to stem the bleeding as best he could, and that was all it had taken.

A jolt through both of them, a spark that quickly turned into a burning internal flame. John acted on instinct. The bond between soulmates was strong and he used that to push his own energy into Mycroft, keeping him alive until the gunmen were apprehended by Lestrade and his team and the paramedics arrived to help.

John saved Mycroft's life, but in the process, they'd been tied together for eternity.

…

The bleeping of the machines told John where he was before he opened his eyes. Blinking against the brightness of the room, John rolled his eyes at the white walls and white bed covers. Bloody hospital. He'd spent far too much time in hospitals since he met Sherlock.

Glancing to the side, he was unsurprised to find his flatmate curled up in the chair, watching him carefully.

"How long have I been here this time?" he croaked out, wincing at the dryness in his mouth.

Sherlock handed him a glass of water as he replied, "Just a few hours. Do you… do you remember what happened?"

It took a few moments for the events to flood his mind, but when they did, John gasped, raising his hand to eye the markings that hadn't been there only a few hours before. Soul-markings on his left hand; the hand he'd first made contact with on Mycroft's skin.

"That was bloody careless, John," Sherlock growled, taking the glass back from John and putting it on the table. "How could you just throw your gloves off like that?"

"Would you prefer your brother dead?" John asked flatly, examining the markings closely. He'd seen soul-marks before of course, but he couldn't deny that they were beautiful. Silver and pale blue swirls and spirals covered his palm and curved up his fingers, ending just short of his wrist.

Mycroft would have a matching pattern on his chest where John had placed his hand.

Sherlock sighed, slumping back into the chair.

"Of course not… I just… Life was good the way it was, John. Everything is going to change now."

"Is it? Why, are you going to start making tea or god forbid, eating and sleeping on a regular schedule?" John asked, raising his eyebrow with an amused look on his face.

"John! You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

"Bah. Nothing needs to change," John argued. "So I know who my soulmate is. It's not the end of the world. Do you think you can go find the doc so I can get out of here?"

Sherlock frowned slightly but nodded. "Sure, but, well, I mean, you used a lot of energy to keep Mycroft alive, John. Maybe you should stay overnight, you know, just in case?"

John scoffed. "I'm fine. Pass me my clothes, please."

Sherlock moved the pile to the end of the bed before he left the room. John dressed quickly, leaving the shirt he'd been wearing off when he saw how much blood it had on it. Dressed in just his jeans and the t-shirt he'd put under his shirt, he ran a hand through his hair.

As much as he'd tried to reassure Sherlock, he was slightly worried about what would change in the coming weeks as well. He'd read studies on soulmates and was well aware of the different symptoms depending on the level of bond between himself and Mycroft. Each couple was different and the abilities they shared varied.

Empathy, telepathy, knowing when the other was hurt or in trouble, inner GPS, the list was really endless. It would take a while for the level to make itself known but John was dreading it anyway. He really didn't want any part of the whole thing, but he knew there was no point ruminating on it now. It was done, and he'd just have to deal with the consequences.

Sherlock returning broke John's thoughts and he waited expectantly as he slipped his shoes on.

"The doctor recommends you stay overnight, but you can sign yourself out AMA at the desk as usual," Sherlock informed him quietly, holding John's jacket out for him to put on.

"Alright, thanks," John replied, taking the gloves from his pocket and slipping them on his hands. When Sherlock frowned, John smiled slightly.

"Sherlock, nothing about me has changed. That includes not wanting to answer endless questions about my 'change' in status. The gloves will remain the constant fixture they've always been."

Sherlock nodded his understanding, and gestured to the door. "We, uh, should go see Mycroft before we leave."

"Sure," John replied shrugging. "Lead the way."

John followed Sherlock through the corridors of the hospital until they arrived at a private room. Hesitating only slightly, John followed Sherlock into the room. He was surprised to see Mycroft sitting up and looking quite alert while the Doctor checked him over.

The wound looked weeks instead of hours old.

"This was healed by a soulbond," the doctor said after a moment. "You're very lucky, Mr Holmes, there's not much chance you would have survived this."

Mycroft nodded, his eyes on John as the Doctor stepped back. "You'll be released in the morning, and you can book a follow up with your own doctor. Congratulations on the bond. With this level of healing, I can only assume it to be a strong one."

Excusing himself, the Doctor left the room, leaving the three men in awkward silence.

"Thank you for saving my life, John," Mycroft said after a moment. "I… am unsure as for how to proceed with this…" He trailed off looking both uncertain and uncomfortable.

"Ah, it's not a problem," John replied quietly. "And, well. Nothing needs to change, does it? I mean, the bond is… certainly useful in that it saved you, but other than that…"

Mycroft's face cleared and he nodded. "Very well. Still, you have my gratitude."

Sherlock rolled his eyes while John let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding in relief that it wasn't going to be an issue of contention.

"I'm going to go and sign the papers for release. I'll wait for you out front, Sherlock."

"I'll be there shortly, John," Sherlock confirmed with a nod and a small smile.

John escaped the room and walked swiftly to the main desk, waiting impatiently for the nurse to get his paperwork in order.

"Would you like to register a soulbond on your notes, Dr Watson?" the woman simpered with a sickly smile.

John scowled. "No. Thank you."

…

Within days life seemed to settle back to normal. John and Sherlock's life continued as usual and they saw nothing of Mycroft. The following week, they were back working on a rather interesting case with Lestrade when John, who'd been quite content and curious, suddenly felt a rather large blast of anger.

When he realised what it was he groaned quietly, ignoring the questioning look Sherlock gave him in favour of leaving the crime scene and catching a cab back to Baker Street. He was laying on the sofa when Sherlock arrived home.

"What… happened?" Sherlock asked, shedding his jacket and sitting down on the sofa, lifting John's legs briefly to slip underneath them.

"I've turned into a fucking mood ring," John complained quietly, his arm over his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the pity on Sherlock's face. "Your brother is currently rather angry about something in case you're interested."

"You have the empathy element," Sherlock surmised.

John lifted his arm to look at Sherlock. "Been studying?"

"Of course," Sherlock confirmed. "As if you thought I wouldn't. I wanted to know if there was anything that could be done to help you. Have you started to feel the effects of the separation yet?"

John sighed but shook his head. "Not yet, but it'll make an appearance at some point, I imagine. I'll be fine, Sherlock. I underwent the torture training before I went to Afghanistan. If I can get through that, a headache will be a piece of cake."

Sherlock nodded. "I'll order Chinese for dinner. Pick a movie out. It's been awhile since we've had a night in just the two of us."

John smiled. "Did you solve the case?"

Smirking, Sherlock nodded. "It was the aunt. I'll tell you about it over dinner, okay?"

"Sounds good. Sherlock… thank you."

"Of course."

Feeling the echo of someone else's emotions was hard to get used to. John would snap at someone before realising he wasn't actually angry, and on two occasions, actually giggled when he was feeling anything but amused.

Then of course were the separation effects. They started easily, but as days passed by, they worsened to the point where painkillers weren't even touching the pain. The headaches were getting to the stage of migraines, the dizziness seemed to show up at the most inopportune moments, and he was quite sure he'd lost weight. The lack of hunger was irritating enough on its own, but when he ate, everything tasted like cardboard.

"You can't continue like this indefinitely," Sherlock told him one evening, as the two settled on the sofa, John's head on Sherlock's lap. Sherlock massaged his head gently, easing the pain the best he could for his friend.

"It'll ease off eventually," John argued. "It has too."

"I'm not convinced it will, John. I haven't found any studies of soulmates who've more or less rejected the bond. We're… you're flying blind at the moment."

John shrugged, shifting so he could bury his face against Sherlock's thigh. "I don't care. I'm not interested in this changing. I like this."

"I know," Sherlock replied softly. "Me too."

Sherlock ran a hand through John's hair gently, smiling slightly when his breathing evened out. He'd always enjoyed the closeness he and John shared. While there was absolutely nothing sexual in their relationship, they were more than platonic best friends.

John was everything to Sherlock. He loved him and he knew that the sentiment was returned. He just wasn't wired to be a sexual being. He'd thought for a long time that there was something wrong with him, but after in depth research, he'd accepted that he was asexual.

Occasionally, he wished he could have been different. He'd love to be able to satisfy all of John's needs, but he couldn't and that was okay too. John would never leave him anyway. John loved him.

The addition of the soulmate connection with Mycroft was worrying. If the two of them got closer, would Sherlock lose the bond he had with John. If Mycroft could fulfil everything John needed in a relationship, what need would John have for Sherlock?

Still, the pain John was suffering at the moment was hard for Sherlock to witness. If it got any worse, he would drag Mycroft kicking and screaming to the flat if he had too.

…

In the end, Sherlock didn't need to take any action. The following morning, Mycroft arrived at Baker Street looking less put together than Sherlock had ever seen him.

"So, John's not the only one suffering," he murmured when his brother let himself into the flat, dropping into John's chair.

"Where is he?" Mycroft asked quietly, rubbing at his temple.

"Still sleeping," Sherlock replied. "Would you like me to get him for you?"

Mycroft frowned but shook his head. "Let him sleep. I can wait."

Sherlock nodded, going to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he reappeared with tea for the two of them.

"You're being awfully accommodating this morning," Mycroft said suspicion colouring his tone as he took the cup.

Shrugging, Sherlock sat down in his own chair. "John's been suffering your absence. If you're here, he'll get a reprieve from the pain. It's not rocket science, Mycroft."

"Is he okay?" Mycroft asked, brow furrowed with concern.

"I guess. Look," Sherlock began, running a hand through his hair. "John is very important to me, as you well know but we're not… we're close, but we're not…"

"I understand, Sherlock."

"He needs you. He might reject the idea because of me, some form of loyalty, or affection, or… I don't know. The important thing is that John needs to be happy and more importantly, pain free and healthy and he needs you to do that. So… we need to… get along more. Or something."

Sherlock grimaced at the thought, but kept his eyes on his brother. John was more important than the rivalry between the two of them, and Mycroft needed to understand that.

"I think I just watched you grow up," Mycroft said after a moment, though there was a pride in his eyes that Sherlock had rarely seen before. "I'll do my best to alleviate any pain John is in, and I'm sure we can manage to be civil, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded once, offering up a wan smile.

They sat in silence until footsteps on the stairs caught both of their attention. John entered the room seconds later, bleary eyed and still wearing his pyjamas.

"Oh. Hey Mycroft," he greeted, running a hand through his hair. "What brings you by?"

"I'll… leave you two to it," Sherlock said before Mycroft could reply. He stood up and walked to the door, stopping briefly in front of John. "Whatever you need to do to stop the pain, do it, John. Nothing is worth you being hurt, okay?"

John frowned, blinking up at Sherlock. "But -"

"John. You'll always be my best friend. This certainly isn't going to change that."

John's lips tilted upwards slightly. "You're my best friend too, Sherlock. I'll see you later?"

"Sure. I'll just be at Bart's. Text me if you need anything."

John nodded and Sherlock let his hand rest on his shoulder for a moment before he left, leaving John and Mycroft staring at each other awkwardly.

"How are you feeling? Your chest I mean?" John asked after a pause, passing his chair to enter the kitchen to make coffee.

Mycroft followed him, leaning against the door jam.

"It's fine. Healed perfectly; thanks to you."

John smiled over his shoulder. "That's good. Have you been…"

"The bond is affecting me as much as it is you, if what Sherlock mentioned is anything to go by. This is the first time I've felt normal for over a week."

John nodded. "Yeah. Me too."

"Would you like to go out for breakfast? It might be nice to actually taste food again."

John smiled at that, sipping at his coffee. "Sure. Give me twenty minutes to shower and get dressed?"

"Of course."

…

Forty five minutes later, Mycroft and John were seated in a private booth in a small restaurant, each with their hands wrapped around coffee cups.

"I believe we need to make a few… arrangements," Mycroft began, his face more open that John had ever seen it. "I understand that we must accommodate for both your relationship with Sherlock, and my unforgiving work schedule."

John nodded slowly. "I don't know if you know about Sherlock and I… It's not sexual. We've never been anything but platonic. That being said, Sherlock is, and more than likely always will be, the most important person in my life. I hope that won't cause problems for the two of us, but I won't abandon him."

"I'd never expect you too," Mycroft assured him quietly. "It brings me a lot of pleasure and peace to see Sherlock so… settled with you. You're the first person he's ever allowed so fully into his life, John. I would never take that away from him."

John smiled slightly. "Then any plans you have, I'd like to hear."

Mycroft returned the smile. "While I cannot commit to absolute times and dates with regards to my job, I've had the time to do a little research, and if we are smart about it, I believe we can minimise the suffering for both of us."

He paused when the waiter approached the table with two steaming plates of food. John thanked the waiter quietly before turning his attention back Mycroft.

"The pain eases upon being in each others presence, and physical contact will prolong the effects of that. Should we hold hands for an hour, I believe we would then be able to spend a couple of days with only phone contact for instance."

John nodded. That matched up with what he knew about a soulbond. The idea of sitting around holding Mycroft's hand was a little baffling, but if it meant life could return to some semblance of normality, it would certainly be worth it in the long run.

"I thought we could attempt to spend one meal every third day together. I understand that with Sherlock's case schedule and my own work being what it is that we're not likely to always be able to stick with such a pattern, but it's certainly worth making the attempt."

John nodded again, hesitating for a moment before he slid his hand across the table, palm up, for Mycroft to take. Their fingers laced together, and they both froze at the electricity that seemed to sizzle from their joined palms.

"That's… certainly something," John commented, his voice slightly unsteady.

Mycroft cleared his throat, his hand twitching slightly in Johns. "Indeed."

They fell into silence as they ate, the novelty of flavourful food taking up both of their full attention for a short while as they each cleared their plates.

"I'll have to leave shortly, but I have something for you before I go," Mycroft said when they'd eaten their fill. "I'm aware that you dislike people buying things for you, but this is important."

John frowned slightly when Mycroft pulled a phone from his pocket and slid it across the table.

"This has been fitted with all the latest security measures. It's the same as Sherlock's own phone. Since I shall be contacting you much more than I ever have before, it's important that your mobile cannot be hacked by outside sources. Please take it, John."

"Sherlock will be able to help me set it up?" John asked, looking at the shiny phone dubiously.

Mycroft chuckled. "Of course. I'm sure he'd be delighted."

"Then… thank you."

Smiling, Mycroft squeezed John's hand before they released their grip on each other.

"I should go. I'll call you," Mycroft assured him as they both stood. "Feel free to contact me at any time, John. If you need anything."

…

Time passed with the new schedule in place and life seemed to fall into a new kind of normal. John still spent the majority of his time with Sherlock, but every three days or so, he'd meet up with Mycroft and spend an enjoyable hour or two getting to know his soulmate better.

John was vaguely surprised to find that he actually enjoyed Mycroft's company immensely. When the 'British Government' wasn't around simply to spar with his little brother, he was intelligent and interesting, funny and charming.

"Things are going well," Sherlock deduced a few weeks into the arrangement when a lunch date was cut short for a case and the Consulting Detective had arrived to pick John up from the restaurant.

John just smiled. "Sure. He's not terrible company."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock just snorted, pleased for his best friend, and, he supposed, pleased for his brother as well.

Of course, it wasn't always that easy. Mycroft, being who he was, was often required to travel for work. While the two kept in contact by phone, it wasn't comfortable to be apart for long amounts of time. On one such occasion, Mycroft was forced to be away for thirteen nights and by the time he arrived back in London, the only thing he could focus on was finding John and getting some relief from the horrendous pains plaguing his body.

 **Where are you? MH**

 **NSY. JW**

Twenty minutes later, a black car was pulling up outside Scotland Yard. John, Sherlock, Detective Inspector Lestrade and a few others were standing close to the entrance, clustered together as they discussed something.

Mycroft got out of the car, his eyes never leaving John as he approached the group. John felt him almost immediately, their eyes meeting. Even at a distance, Mycroft could see John exhale in relief.

Sherlock pushed John towards Mycroft, offering his brother a small smile and a nod before he turned back to the DI. Meeting part way, John pulled his right glove off, linking his fingers with Mycroft's immediately, glancing up to share a shy smile.

"Dinner?" Mycroft offered, squeezing John's hand briefly.

"Takeaway?" John countered. "We've been working for seventy odd hours, I'm knackered."

"Of course."

Mycroft led the way to the car, gesturing for John to climb in first. As soon as the door was closed, John shifted closer on the seat, foregoing the seatbelt, in favour of sitting closer to his soulmate, their bodies pressed together shoulder to knee.

Mycroft wrapped his arm around John's shoulders, pulling him closer as John removed his left glove before deftly undoing the buttons of Mycroft's shirt enough that he could lay their soulmarks together.

"I missed you," he whispered, all the tension leaving his body as their marks met.

Mycroft whimpered slightly at the contact, a jolt running through his whole body.

"Your absence has been sorely unacceptable, John," he replied, his hand rubbing up John's arm.

They settled into comfortable silence, revelling in each other's company, in the lack of pain in their tired bodies. When they arrived at Mycroft's home, Mycroft led John inside, gesturing him to go into the living room.

"I'll be there in a moment, I'm just going to have Anthea have some food delivered for us."

When Mycroft entered the living room five minutes later, it was to find John slumped on the sofa, his eyes closed, his breathing even. He smiled fondly for a moment before he moved closer to rouse his soulmate.

"Come along, John, bed. If you sleep there, you will certainly regret it in the morning."

John didn't protest. He let Mycroft guide him to the bedroom, his mind on nothing but the bliss of finally being able to sleep. He stripped without thinking, leaving only his boxers on before he climbed under the thick quilt. He barely managed to keep himself awake until Mycroft joined him, similarly undressed to his boxers.

Mycroft spooned him, his arm wrapping around John's chest, the other under the smaller man's head.

"Good night, John."

"G'night," John slurred, settling back into the embrace slightly, the feel of a body behind him both comforting and slightly surreal. He didn't have long to ponder the new experience, as blissful darkness beckoned him into a deep, restful sleep.

…

Waking was slow and comfortable, the haze of being half awake a wonderful sensation as John enjoyed the sensation of having another body wrapped around his own.

"Good morning," Mycroft murmured, his breath ghosting over John's shoulder. "Did you sleep well?"

"Hmm," John agreed sleepily. "Very well. You?"

"The best sleep I believe I've ever had."

Mycroft nuzzled against his neck for a moment. "I rather like have you here when I wake up," he murmured, his arms tightening around John for a moment.

Smiling, John replied, "Perhaps the occasional sleepover should be added to our schedule."

Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, but John's stomach grumbling interrupted him, making them both chuckle.

"I believe food is the most important thing at the moment," Mycroft commented, pressing a gentle kiss to John's shoulder.

He climbed out of bed, completely unashamed of his near nakedness and approached the bathroom. John watched him go, his heart aflutter. He'd never have known, all those weeks ago when he saved Mycroft from that gun shot, that this could be the way it turned out.

He'd never have taken Mycroft for a cuddler, but there had definitely been cuddling involved when John woke up.

Pulling himself from beneath the comfortable blankets, he followed Mycroft into the bathroom, shucking his underwear before he climbed into the shower behind his soulmate.

"Alright," he asked cautiously, when Mycroft stiffened slightly.

Mycroft turned around, looking down fondly at John. "More than 'alright', John. Come, stand in front of me. Allow me to look after you."

John did as he was bid, almost moaning when Mycroft's long talented fingers began massaging his scalp. He could really get used to this kind of treatment.

…

Sherlock sat in the chair beside John's bed, waiting for John to wake up. He was startled when Mycroft arrived in the doorway.

"I thought you were busy this weekend?" he asked, raising his eyebrow. "John said you'd had to cancel lunch today."

Mycroft looked at John in the bed, dwarfed by the white sheets. "Is he going to be okay?"

Sherlock nodded. "Uh huh. Concussion though. Bastard."

"The perpetrator has already been liberated from New Scotland Yard," Mycroft growled, his eyes flashing angrily. "I would like a word with the man who thought it was okay to attack _my_ soulmate."

Sherlock's lips tilted up in an approving smile. He knew that Graham…Gary… _Lestrade_ would be irritated by his brothers high handedness, but Sherlock himself absolutely was in favour of Mycroft scaring the bejesus out of the man.

Mycroft took the seat across from Sherlock, gently pulling John's hand from beneath the sheet to wrap his own hand around it.

"You love him," Sherlock murmured after a moment. "Don't you?"

Mycroft met his eyes, and after a long moment of silence, nodded once. "Very much."

"Good."

John groaned, blinking heavily. He saw Sherlock first, offering him a tight smile, before he realised his hand was being held on the other side. Turning his head with a wince, his eyes widened when he saw Mycroft sitting in the seat.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be off saving the country or something?"

The question was asked in jest, but John still looked concerned.

"England will survive to fight another day without me," Mycroft replied. "You on the other hand… you've got to stop landing yourself here, John."

"I'll keep that in mind. Next time we run into an idiot, I'll make sure to tell him that you'll be pissed if he hospitalises me."

Sherlock chuckled, while Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Make sure you do."

"Go," John murmured. "Do whatever you were busy with earlier. I'm okay, Mycroft, I promise. Sherlock will look after me, alright?"

Mycroft sighed just as his phone went off. Ignoring the irritating ring, he stood, bending over the bed to press a gentle kiss to John's lips.

"I'll be with you as soon as I have everything wrapped up, okay? And Sherlock, when John is released, there will be a car awaiting you outside."

Sherlock nodded at his brother.

With a last kiss to John's temple, Mycroft left the room, his phone already at his ear.

"He loves you," Sherlock commented quietly. "I'm glad."

John grinned. "I'm glad too. Think you can break me out of here?"

Sherlock returned the grin. "Gimme ten minutes."


End file.
